


In Flammen

by mitternacht



Category: Rammstein
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Du Hast, Alternate Universe - Mob, Du Hast, Du Hast (Music Video)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-03
Updated: 2016-05-24
Packaged: 2018-04-29 14:43:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5131415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mitternacht/pseuds/mitternacht
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>“How do we even know if this is actually Schneider? Something here feels … wrong,” Till murmured to Flake as he pulled him closer under the guise of a drunken hug.</em><br/>Du Hast AU, based off the music video.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Epilogue

_Between observation of the close knit group and outside sources, this is the most information we could gather. They are distrustful of outsiders, constant surveillance is nearly impossible; it's as if we only see what they want us to see. We have put Zweifach into effect and hope for a positive outcome. This group poses too much of a threat; we hope to uncover more of their inner workings and obtain more knowledge. Being in close proximity to any of the members is ill-advised as they are always armed. They are dangerous but we may finally gained have the upper hand in this situation._

**_Paul_** talks far too often, talks to himself and Flake the most. His constant chatter developed from his constant unease and nervousness in situations; a habit formed as far back as his employment with Aljoscha. Overall very fidgety, eyes always searching for the exits in a room or escape routes in buildings. Faint traces of paranoia are exhibited in his behavior, is typically distrustful of others. Lived in Russia for ten years, rumored to gotten into crime at the age of eleven working for the Bratva. Keeps his numerous tattoos hidden; the only visible one being a Star of David with the words “tout pour moi, rein de moi”.

**Motto:** Tout pour moi, rein de moi.

**_Schneider_** is only occasionally referred to as _Schneider_ but mostly goes by _Doom_ , none of the others know his actual name. Refuses to divulge much about his past, quipping ‘if I told you, I’d have to kill you’ and probably wouldn’t hesitate to do so. Once threw a knife at Paul for repeatedly asking him about it, Paul still has the scar on his cheek to prove it. Most definitely showcases symptoms of PTSD, prefers isolation. Operates with militant precision, allows no room for error. Avoid angering him at all costs.

**Motto:** By any means necessary.

**_Flake_** seems very distant and detached from the world around him. Hardly ever seeks out human contact, preferring to keep to himself. Usually can be found quietly reading or with Paul; the only person he seems to like, much less tolerate. Previously worked with Paul and Aljoscha until the latter's disappearance. Outwardly, a frigid person; it’s hard to tell if he’s listening or not. Tolerates Till as well. Very volatile in certain situations, appears to have no conscience. Skilled 'doctor', has extensive medical knowledge.

**Motto:** I am become Death, destroyer of worlds.

**_Oliver_** can be hard to read at times, sometimes unpredictable. The youngest of the group and still somewhat rebellious in certain instances. Can be careless when it comes to matter regarding his own safety and life, more of a daredevil than the others. Very confident in his abilities (for good reason, what can’t he do?), bordering on cockiness sometimes. Tends to deviate from the plan to add _that extra_ _little kick_ , usually involving some sort of diversion. Often works with Till on bombs and pyro diversions.

**Motto:** Feuer frei!

**_Richard_** has been running from the Stasi for years, troubles mostly stemming from his childhood; exposed to crime at an early age. After the 'poster' incident, he committed his first murder and never looked back. His moral compass is completely backwards, being non-existent ninety percent of the time. Personality can be classified as highly charismatic, mostly problematic. A charmer, often if a plan involves getting past women, he can be found seducing them. Can be arrogant and quick-tempered, this combination irritates Doom to no end.

**Motto:** Destroy what destroys you.

**_Till_** is brains and brawn, outsmarting whoever he has to, to get what he wants. Often looked to as the leader, he is not above manipulating people. Will tell anyone exactly what they want to hear, skilled at reading other people. Intimidating stature and terrifying personality, perceived as borderline cruel at times. Highly experienced in arson, making explosives, and modifying weapons.

**Motto:** Asche zu asche.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A brief introduction of each member. Hoping to post chapter 1 within the next few days.  
> Another idea I had in my head.


	2. I

       “How do we even know if this is actually Schneider? Something here feels … wrong,” Till murmured to Flake as he pulled him closer under the guise of a drunken hug.

       “What do you mean,” Flake asked, keeping what was visible of his face neutral to avoid raising suspicion.

       “The face is there, definitely, but it’s not him. He’s too hesitant,” Till said, glancing at Schneider who seemed to be discussing something with Paul. He scratched at the side of his mask, it was rubbing against his hairline. They all wore painted white masks, mainly to hide their features, partly due to precaution in this certain situation. The masks covered only the top half of their faces, in the off chance they had to use their mouths and teeth as weapons. Their eyes were hardly visible when staring directly at them, due to the purposeful shape of the masks; yet another helpful facet of the disguise.

       “He has good reason to be. He was done, he told us that our operation was his last. We’ve dragged him back into this mess and for what? A personal vendetta? He’s still feeling us out,” Flake said, his tone cool. “Trying to figure out if he wants to commit, wants to know our true intentions before agreeing. Something you ought to make an effort to keep in mind.”

       “This is not about me Flake-,” Till half snarled before he was cut off. The way Flake spoke about it made it sound like this was some sort of petty trouble, instead of the actual threat that it was.

       “Nevertheless, I agree. Get him drunker, see how he responds. You remember how Doom was after having some of that bootlegged whiskey in Paris, don’t you,” Flake questioned with a sly smile. “That way, we get our answer; it’s not exactly common knowledge.”

       “That’s not a good idea, we’d all have to drink. It would put us in a compromising position,” Till whispered hurriedly, checking to make sure none of the others had heard him.

       “It’s a very simple strategy. We will plan accordingly,” Flake said, bringing his forehead to meet Till’s, briefly touching them together for a moment. “Trust me.”

       “It’s too simple,” Till insisted but Flake merely shushed him and smiled, holding his glass up.

       “Prosit!”

       The other four cheered raucously in response, raising their glasses as well before draining the contents. Till grimaced after, less to do with the burn of the alcohol stinging his throat and more to do with the shaky premise of their plan. He could come up with at least three other plans, two of which would be very unpleasant for Schneider if it was in fact him. After careful consideration, he sighed, deciding that Flake’s plan would probably be the easiest to set in motion with what little equipment they had here. The desolate warehouse provided little room for improvisation and was hard to locate; the main two reasons they chose this area. He would have to work with what was available; five guns, liquor, some cigarettes and matches, and a couple of containers of possibly flammable gas hidden throughout. If he was provided enough time, he could create several more than adequate flamethrowers. He kept the idea in the back of his mind, hoping it would not have to come to that particular outcome.

       He was convinced that this was not their Schneider, carefully studying the other man’s expressions. They certainly looked similar but that was meaningless, anyone could have been sent in as a decoy. He searched for any sort of telltale signs of a latex or rubber mask; peeling edges, uneven textures, or discoloration but found none. Who was this? Who sent this person? Could Doom have been exposed and captured before he got to meet up with them?

       It seemed highly unlikely that anyone could torture an answer out of Schneider, he was much more resilient than that. He had never been careless enough to let his plans slip in the past, so how had this impostor snuck in to take his place? Till felt a sense of unease as Schneider’s doppelganger approached him smiling, the scent of liquor far too strong on his breath. They would go with Flake’s idea for now but he was determined to make this man suffer.

       Flake made his way to the others, quietly informing each of them of the new plan in effect. None of the others seemed to be convinced that this was Schneider either, with Richard wanting to immediately shoot the other man. Flake threw Richard a glare through his mask that read _not yet_ as he pulled the other’s hand away from his holster. Richard’s hidden expression was a scowl of disgust, before steeling over and hardening. “Let’s get this bastard,” he murmured through clenched teeth.

       Flake gripped his arm tighter and whispered, “Don’t give us away. Be calm.” He eyed Schneider worriedly, hoping that Richard’s sudden movements were not obvious.  

       Richard exhaled a sharp breath, closing his eyes momentarily then nodding. “Right.” He wouldn’t fly off the handle just yet but they had to make their move soon. He gritted his teeth together as he reached for the nearby bottle of vodka then took a swig. His gaze was cold as ice as he turned away from Flake. He yearned to pull out his gun now, to feel the reassurance of the cool metal against his fingertips.

       As Flake reached Oliver, his eyes grew wide through the slits of his mask, a flicker of panic evident. “Das ist nicht-“ he began before Flake raised a finger to his own lips, quieting him.

       “I know,” he replied. “You know what we’re going to have do to do.”

       Oliver’s face lit up with a mischievous grin and he nodded. He looked relieved that the others had caught onto Schneider’s strange actions. Silently, he moved towards Till formulating various plans. Till was pouring more drinks for the group, not wanting to waste a second to put a strategy into action.

       Schneider was considerably drunk but had hardly spoken; seemingly unfocused. Till poured a drink and quickly tossed his head back, waiting for Schneider to do the same. He hesitated for a moment, eyes bleary and glassed over. Schneider coughed before turning away from them, feeling his body starting to heave.

       “Oh Gott,” he said, unable to hold back the bile that rose in his throat. He retched loudly, the sound of vomit hitting the ground audibly. Richard, Paul, and Oliver visibly winced while Till and Flake exchanged a triumphant glance. Doom could hold his liquor, although he sometimes got belligerent, he would never drink to the point of excess. An appreciation for alcohol and the refusal to waste it were traits he and Paul had in common. Strike one against this Schneider.

       As he hunched over, Richard pointed at Doom’s waistband angrily. A plain chrome handle protruded from beneath his belt, a detail that might have been otherwise overlooked if he had not turned his back. The meaning was obvious to the other four; _that’s clearly not his gun!_ Richard’s trigger finger twitched in anticipation and he had to physically restrain himself, choosing to fold his arms tightly across his body.

       The others exchanged a worried glance, Flake shaking his head at Richard, not wanting him to reveal his face just yet. He tried his best to convey through his expression that a different gun could have a number of meanings. Schneider had several guns; he could have switched for any reason. He could have finally upgraded to a more efficient weapon, possibly he wanted to bring something else in case they turned on him, he could have left his gun behind purposely, the list went on.

       In Richard’s mind, it was already strike two and he was eager to expose whoever this was. They were all at risk if this proved to be anyone except their friend. He was already weary, Schneider seemed a little too friendly to be the person he knew and it seemed like he was still trying to figure out the dynamics between each of them. He was already mentally preparing himself to dispose of this stranger, thinking of various methods.

       Paul caught their exchange, clenching his teeth nervously. He fell quiet as he watched Schneider empty his stomach’s contents onto the concrete floor. His usual jaunty grin twisted to a grimace as the scent of alcohol mingled with throw-up filled the air. “Ty v poryadke,” he asked, worry apparent in his features once Schneider straightened himself up.

       “Was,” Schneider asked, unable to totally comprehend what Paul had asked.

       “Ty v poryadke,” Paul repeated, dragging his words out, much slower than before. His eyes were wide as he took a small step towards Schneider, unsure of what to do next. The rest of the group looked on with a mystified sort of horror. He searched Doom’s eyes frantically for recognition, hoping that Flake might have been wrong in some way. Schneider’s eyes were darker than usual, although it could have been the lighting of the warehouse and edges of his mask playing with his perception. It was hard for Schneider to read Paul’s expression with the mask obscuring his face and Paul was briefly tempted to remove his as well. “Brat,” Paul nearly whispered, taking another step towards the younger man.

       “Ja, ja … da,” he finally responded, a beat too late for Paul’s liking. Paul knew that Schneider knew basic Russian, they’d worked their way to exchanging playful insults without hesitation. Doom no longer had to pause and mentally translate conversations, it had become almost second nature to him when speaking with Paul.

       He had wanted to write it off as a drunken mistake but it was difficult to convince himself that was the reality of the situation. Paul stepped back, almost visibly recoiling from Schneider’s minor slipup. There was no way he had forgotten that easily. His next sentence died in his throat and he paused; this certainly was strike two for him. He wrung his hands together nervously, immediately wanting to know who this was and why he had been sent. “Gut,” was his short reply, opting for German in the hopes that the man standing before him hadn’t noticed.

       It was five against one at this point, almost all of them had proof from within the last few minutes that this was not their ally. ’Schneider’ stood up finally, looking down at his pants in disgust as he noticed specks of vomit on his slacks. He wobbled momentarily, staggering forward towards Paul before stopping himself. He groaned, clutching at his stomach as though he were going to throw up again.

       Richard took advantage of Schneider’s momentary distractedness, quickly pulling his gun from his holster and stepping forward. Before the others could properly react, he brought the butt of the gun down swiftly into the back of the other man’s head. He collapsed instantly, knees buckling before Flake could even shout “No!” ‘Schneider’ narrowly missed landing in his own throw up as he hit the ground with a thud.

       “I think we can all agree that this is not Doom,” Richard said calmly as he nudged the man on the floor with his foot, pointing his gun at him. The others rushed to surround him, Oliver making sure he retrieved the gun from Schneider’s waistband before they rolled him away from the mess. He removed the magazine, placing it in his own pocket then passed the now empty gun to Till. They nodded in agreement.

       “Let’s tie him up then,” Till said, eyeing the gun he had received carefully. It had a decent amount of weight to it, although it seemed very unlike what Doom preferred; lightweight and sleek, sometimes decorative. “Leave him ungagged though, I do have one more test for him once he comes to.” Till slipped his fingers underneath the bottom of the mask finally, not caring whether or not the intruder knew what they looked like. Soon enough, it wouldn't matter anyways.

       Paul reached for the coat ‘Doom’ had brought with him, a quick search revealing no further weapons. Oliver returned to Schneider’s slumped form, grabbing his legs as Flake secured his arms. They lifted him up and hauled him over to a nearby stack of crates, sitting him against them. Flake searched in between the boxes for a moment, retrieving thick twine rope for Doom. He and Oliver set to work; wrapping and knotting the twine around Doom, making sure it was secure. Oliver made sure to tie the knots tightly against him with the knowledge that if he squirmed too much, it would cause him pain.

       Once they finished, they stepped back and returned to Till, Richard, and Paul. Till glanced behind them, letting out a low whistle. “You didn’t want him to move at all, did you?” A pause, then, “I’ve taught you a little too well,” he said with a grin, a hint of pride evident. Oliver nodded, looking back to ensure that the knots looked neat. He began to pry off his mask as well, pulling it down before setting it on the ground a safe distance away from Schneider’s vomit.

       The other three followed suit quickly. “So how do we go about this,” Paul asked after a moment of silence. “This fucks with the whole operation now. Our plan is down the drain and we’ve got some random bastard to deal with,” he said, his words becoming increasingly more frantic.

       Richard cut in then, “I say we cut our losses, shoot the bastard, and move on.” He cocked the hammer back as if to illustrate his point. “Who knows where Schneider really is?”

       Till shook his head, strands of hair falling forward into his eyes. “Too dangerous. You said it yourself, we don’t know Schneider’s location and if we dispose of this person, it could put him in danger. We can’t make a move just yet.”

       Richard groaned in frustration; in his mind the longer they waited, the more danger they, and possibly Schneider, would be in.

       Flake approached him cautiously, holding open an eye to see if he was actually unconscious. He let Doom’s bloodshot eye close, then quickly raised his hand and slapped him across the face. Not so much as a single twitch. “He’s out for now,” Flake confirmed.

       Paul crouched close to his face, examining it before asking, “Are you sure?”

       Flake slapped him once more for good measure and replied, “Yes,” as Schneider’s head lolled back. “Wait,” he said, gripping at Schneider’s chin, tilting it away from them even further. “Do you see that?” He gestured at faint pinkish-white scars that ran just below his jawline.

       Paul swore under his breath and he stood up again, stepping back in slight horror. “The fuck is going on?” He felt betrayed by whoever the hell this was; the evidence was not in the stranger’s favor. _His third strike,_ Paul thought to himself. He felt a surge of fury rush through his veins, and a flicker of rage towards Schneider himself. He knew it was unreasonable to be upset with Schneider, however he could not help himself; Schneider should have been here instead. How could he allow himself to be captured, this was a mistake, complete failure, that someone else was sent in their friend’s place. 

       “What is it,” Till asked, looking around Paul to get a better view. He strained his eyes to see in the dim lighting.

       Flake lightly traced a finger along the line of still healing scars before responding to Till. “It looks as if someone’s given him a bit of a face lift.” He began prodding gently at the rest of his face, long fingers sweeping behind his ears. “Aha,” he said, turning Doom’s head toward him and pushing his ear out of the way. “Aside from the fact that his ears seem a little too small, which I may be imagining; there are more scars behind them. Someone tried to hide them in his hairline but they were a little messy, in my opinion.” He parted his hair slightly, brushing gently against the twisted markings there and ‘Doom’ stirred lightly.

       “Snap his fucking neck Flake,” Richard snarled, picking up a nearly empty bottle of vodka. He looked as if he were going to smash it into the impostor’s face. “If I break this, we can slice him up some more huh? Do our own plastic surgery modifications!”

       Oliver grimaced, slowly taking the bottle away from Richard and chugging what was left of it. “This is ridiculous,” he muttered. “Absolutely wild.”

       “Let me finish,” Flake said, eyes and fingertips intent on finding more flaws. He pushed at Schneider’s cheekbones, frowning as he felt softness instead of bone. It was unusually tender and gave way beneath his fingers somewhat. “He’s had implants,” he announced to the others’ dismay. “I must admit it’s sort of shoddy work, whoever did this doesn’t seem to be very experienced yet. Whoever this man is hasn’t had much time to heal from the surgeries, I can tell now. Amateur work for sure.” He examined his nose closely, barely visible scars were in his nostrils as well. He chuckled mirthlessly to himself, “it seems as if they’ve tried to enlarge his nose as well. Disgusting.” He pushed at the implant, grimacing as it moved slightly. “This is going to be very unpleasant for him.”

       Till held his hand up and said, “Not just yet. We’re going to interrogate him … but go easy at first.” Richard groaned loudly, stowing his handgun back into his waistband. Oliver met him with a excited glance, he was looking forward to testing their new method on someone besides themselves. Paul helped Flake up and kicked the intruder once more before they formed a sort of semi-circle around Till and ‘Schneider’.

       Till carefully pocketed his mask before crouching down to Doom’s level. “Wake up,” he said, clapping a large hand to the man’s shoulder. “Schneider, come on, wake up,” he said, louder this time as he shook the man. His eyes were starting to move about underneath his lids. “There we go, open your eyes,” Till said, withdrawing a switchblade from his pocket.

       Doom’s eyes fluttered open, roving over Till’s face before registering that he was no longer unconscious. He fidgeted away from Till before yelping in pain.

       Till laughed and ruffled the man’s hair before speaking again. “Ah, you’ll have to thank Oliver for the ropes, he’s sometimes a little … heavy handed when it comes to knots. I suggest trying not to move too much, it’ll become tighter and more painful.” He grinned widely, showing all of his teeth. It looked out of place among his features, the forced cheerfulness contrasting with his grim expression. The grin stretched wide looked almost painful, but it served its purpose.

       He pushed his own hair back and stared into Doom’s eyes. “We have reason to believe you are not who you say you are.” The bound man squirmed uncomfortably, another moan of pain escaped him as his face blanched considerably. “You have one chance to answer this question correctly,” Till continued. “If you answer it correctly, you will be untied.”

       “And if not,” the man asked, voice faltering slightly. “What if I don’t know the answer? You could be asking anything!”

       “You know the answer. It’s a very simple question. All I want to know is your name,” Till said, casually wiping an imaginary stain from his blade onto his jacket.

       The man stiffened visibly as the dim light glinted off the blade. “Schneider,” he said, keeping his eye on the knife.

       “Your first name,” Till clarified.

       He began to heave again and Till tilted ‘Schneider’ away from him, not wanting him to vomit on his clothing. He stopped after a few seconds as the ropes tightened across his chest and arms, pain coursing through his body. When Till was sure nothing would come up, he lifted him upright again. He watched him expectantly, waiting patiently for his answer.

       After a few moments that seemed entirely too long, he slowly responded with, “Jan.”

       Till immediately sprang to his feet then, motioning to Oliver. “Untie him,” he said, pocketing his knife and walking away, raising his eyebrows slightly.

       The man breathed a sigh of relief and closed his eyes as Oliver came closer, unaware of Till’s signal. He drew his fist back and swung, knuckles solidly connecting with the stranger’s marred jawline. He screamed in pain as he fell backwards, head knocking against the ground. Oliver laughed as he caught sight of the blood flowing freely from the man’s nose.

       “Nice try, but no,” Till called over his shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Thank you everyone, I wasn't expecting such amazing feedback! <3 I really appreciate it all, I figured the intro would just be a blip on the radar. You're all wonderful!  
> *Listen, for whatever reason, Paul keeps speaking Russian in my fics. It must be canon in my head? Damn you random interview where Paul spoke fluent Russian, I can’t make it stop.  
> **Ty v poryadke = are you okay?, Brat? = brother? [Again if anyone speaks Russian and notices any errors/knows a better translation, please let me know because Google Translate is sometimes garbage.]


	3. II

_Eight months prior_

                Schneider grabbed Till by the lapels of his jacket, slamming him against the wall. Doom was about three inches taller than the other man, but they were evenly matched in terms of strength. However, when Doom was enraged, little could stop him from steamrolling whoever was in his path. He held Till down with his forearms, one hand inching towards the older man’s throat. “If you don’t tell me what the fuck is going on now, I’ll fuck you up,” he snarled, ready to strangle Till.

                “Schneider, it’s all very simple,” Till began before being cut off with a forearm to his windpipe.

                “The short version,” Schneider snapped in reply.

                Till sighed then, staring into Schneider’s eyes with no trace of fear. Schneider held his gaze, pushing harder on his neck for a moment, then stepped back and groaned in defeat. “Explain,” he commanded.

                “If you knew the entire plan, it would have been compromised,” Till began.

                “Are you fucking kidding me? We’re a goddamn team; we should all know the plan down to the very last detail! Holding out on certain aspects isn’t going to help us at all,” Schneider said loudly, struggling to keep his voice down.

                “I had to do what was necessary for success,” he said coolly.

                “That’s quite possibly the dumbest strategy in existence. How was anything today successful? Do you really think you can predict exactly how each of us is going to react?”

                Till remained silent.

                “Never mind, of course you do,” he continued, sarcasm evident in his drawl. “We barely pulled this off Till. Barely. Flake nearly lost his fucking arm but it’s okay with you because the plan went smoothly enough. If you had told all of us the _whole_ plan, then maybe we could have figured out a better way. Another option where Flake wouldn’t have to put himself at risk. Did you think about that?”

                Till dropped his gaze to the ground, still saying nothing.

                “We can’t be a team if this is going to keep happening. The plan was only half successful if you ask me.”

                “I didn’t ask you,” Till said, ready to argue but was cut short by Schneider.

                “She’s gotten away. We’ve been after her for six months or so. We could have caught her and put an end to this here and now.” He raked a hand through his hair in frustration, sighing heavily as he forced himself to exhale in an effort to calm down. They were so close, if only they had known the entire plan, they could have improvised and it would be over now. He thought about his next sentence very carefully, weighing each word. “Half successful however, is not enough for me. All we’ve obtained is information, when we could have had some real leverage as well. Failure,” he snapped.

                Till slammed his fist into the wall, trying to control his anger and doing a poor job. “You cannot possibly believe that. Even if we had gone with your plan, we’d be in this exact same predicament. I guarantee it. You think you’re smarter than I am, but you wouldn’t have outwitted her either. And don’t you dare run your mouth about Flake,” he warned. “I take care of my own, remember that.” He withdrew his hand, bits of drywall crumbling and scattering as he brushed it off.

                Any sane person would have immediately cowered in fear and scurried away with their tail between their legs at least ten minutes ago however neither of the two could be classified as normal. Schneider snorted amusedly before speaking again. “You take care of your own sure, but do you trust us enough to do that?”

                “Don’t test me,” Till growled, just barely holding back from hitting Schneider. He flexed his fingers, trying not to ball his hands into fists. He couldn’t lose his temper now, he would lose the group’s trust if he did. Sometimes it was more stressful working in a group than alone; a totally different dynamic came into play and there were uncontrollable variables when others were involved. Having to watch himself around others got to be very tiring at times.

                There was no real need for Till to respond anyways, Schneider had his answer. For him, it was worth it to bait Till though. If he was going to be a part of a six-man team, he couldn’t just fly off the handle whenever. It was a matter of adjusting and adapting to the others in order to work better in the field, so to speak. Dealing with five other (and sometimes more) personalities definitely kept Till on his toes and Schneider wanted to make sure they were never caught off guard. While they were fairly new, they worked smoothly together, feeding off each other and covering each other’s weaknesses. Strange to think they had been running operations for barely a year.

                “Let’s discuss this with the others,” Schneider said finally, signaling an end to the current discussion. Till looked relieved that they were dropping the subject, but he wasn’t off the hook just yet. The others would have their own opinions about the failures and successes of the task at hand.

                Till and Schneider entered their makeshift ‘boardroom’ which was no more than two couches, a few lounge chairs with a computer and television set up on a table in the center.  Till pulled the set of floppy disks from his pockets, passing them to Flake. “Let’s boot these up and see what we can find out,” he said to the younger man.

                Flake quickly set to work, pushing in the first of three rectangular disks into the appropriate slot. Long fingers clicked against the keyboard, inputting various commands and passwords to hack into the hidden data. He cracked his knuckles while the computer ran the programs needed to bypass firewalls and viruses with ease. His eyebrows creased and his expression was a slight frown of confusion. “It’ll take a minute but what I’m getting so far doesn’t make a whole lot of sense.”

                “What do you mean,” Till asked, peering over his shoulder to see what Flake was talking about.

                “These are locations, probably of sites they plan on scoping out. Some names here as well, I’d guess they’re either agents or some type of hired informers within various companies. Spies, if you will, to ensure that their plans work and they make a profit off their schemes. I’m going to search for the locations and see what turns up. I just can’t understand why anyone so high up would be carrying around this type of information on their person,” Flake said, scanning through the addresses onscreen. He adjusted his glasses as he scrolled down further, seemingly lost in thought.

                After more silent observation, he sighed deeply.

                “Was ist es Flake,” Richard spoke, finally breaking his silence.

                “This just reads like a list of grunts. I wouldn’t say there’s anything particularly important on here.” The screen reflected off his glasses, flickering slightly as he exited the list. “I can’t imagine anyone would be particularly upset about losing this.” He ejected the first disk, reaching for the next and booting it up to find out what the contents could be. Something wasn’t exactly adding up and he was going to find out what it was.

                Repeating the process on this disk yielded almost identical results. Scrolling through the information revealed nothing particularly earth-shattering. Schneider looked irritated as he tapped his foot impatiently. Paul looked on, expression vacant as he waited for Flake’s results. He seemed be somewhere else entirely but perhaps that was better. If he was too focused on what could happen next, he tended to project his paranoia onto the others until his fears were resolved, which was not as often as they would have liked. Whenever that happened, none of the others could get him to stop and it tended to ruin the mood after a particularly unsuccessful plan.

                Flake replaced it with the third and final disk, tossing the second carelessly off to the side. His irritation was growing but he managed to keep his voice calm, saying, “That was the same exact list as the first disk.” He typed quickly, fingers clicking soundly against the keyboard, as he tried to crack the information on the disk. He considered that possibly it was some sort of code but decided to hold off judgement until he knew what this one said.

                He heard the inner machinations of the machine turning and working as it strained to extract the hidden files from the floppy disk. It clicked and whirred along until finally the information was retrieved. He swore under his breath as he scanned the list, finding no changes from the first two disks. He jabbed a finger viciously at the eject button, pulling out the disk with a little more anger than necessary and flung it down. He turned to face the others with a grim expression.

                He cleared his throat and scratched behind his ear before he spoke up finally, voice calm as ever. “Gentleman, I’ve figured out what the contents of these disks are. Strangely enough, all three disks have the same information. This leads me to a few conclusions, however if you have any ideas on what else they may be, feel free to let us all know. It was a list of names and addresses; a mixture of residential homes and local businesses. As I said earlier, it may just be a list of employed grunts. I’m assuming all three were intended for different recipients, perhaps for those who are meant to go check up on these people or maybe for intimidation purposes.”

                Schneider rolled his eyes in frustration, this was not what they meant to obtain. Of course their plan got derailed.

                “I’m going to reassess what we have later, look at it with fresh eyes,” Flake continued. “See if I missed anything out of the ordinary, some sort of decryption methods I could have overlooked, or maybe some sort of code is within the names, or a pattern with the addresses. As of right now though, for us this information is …useless,” he finished with a deep sigh.

                The disappointment in the room was tangible; Paul let out a frustrated curse in Russian, Schneider kicked the leg of the table they were sitting around, and Richard buried his head in his hands. Till hung his head but was interrupted by Schneider shouting at him, pointing an accusatory finger in his direction.

                “ _I fucking told you,_ ” he yelled, banging a fist against the table. “This wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t deviated from the plan! We had it all set up but you had to go rogue and look what that did!” His eyes glinted with rage, lips set in a tight grimace when he paused to inhale. “She probably saw this coming!” He turned to Flake, trying to suppress the anger he felt towards Till. “Is it possible that this is just some sort of dummy information? Something purposely planted to throw us off,” he asked, voice still quivering with fury. “Be honest,” he added, knowing that Till took a special liking to Flake and did not want it to influence his answer.

                Flake considered his reply carefully, not particularly wanting to ignite an all-out brawl between Till and Schneider. Schneider was right in thinking that it was just a red herring. He had contemplated that idea as well, but held back from saying in front of the others just in case something like this would happen. The disks were fairly easy to hack into; they hardly had any defense measures in place. Could it be possible that they were one step behind the whole time? Did they anticipate the theft of the disks? He mulled it over for a minute, and after realizing he could no longer prolong the inevitable, he finally said, “Yes, it is.”

                That was all Schneider needed. Till stood up abruptly, shoving the table back a few inches and knocking his chair to the ground before storming out of the room. This was the smartest decision he could have made because shortly after Schneider began to fume silently. Flake left the room as well, not in search of Till but in search of solitude; he had had enough of the overly charged atmosphere between the others.

                Paul was jittery, shaking his leg nervously as he mulled over the outcome of their mission. It was definitely unsuccessful in his eyes, they would have to wait it out then regroup. He made a mental note to review the addresses with Flake just to be safe, not wanting to miss any details. They could not afford to slip up again, especially after today. He got up and left as well, choosing to wait a while before going to seek out Flake.

                 Richard, Oliver, and Schneider were left at the table, each thinking about what they could have possibly changed or tweaked earlier that day. Oliver got up as well, choosing to go find Till, wherever he may have gone.

                Schneider finally spoke, more so to himself than to Richard, but what he had to say would have probably angered the others. “This was awful.”

                Richard hummed in agreement, only half paying attention.

                Schneider looked thoughtful for a moment, staring at the wall before finally looking at Richard.  “I’m not sure how much longer I can deal with this sort of sneakiness. Don’t you think it’s strange that Till has his own agenda? That maybe he’s hiding his real intentions from the rest of us? Why do you think it is that he won't trust us? Tell me, do you trust him with your life?"”

                Richard remained silent.

                "And yet, we're expected to trust him completely, give up a fucking arm and a leg for him. I'm sick of it. I don't trust anyone who can't even tell me what the plan is. He wants blind faith from us and will give us nothing in return. Distrust and half assed plans are only going to drive us into the ground," Schneider sighed in frustration. "All of you can stay here and try to figure this shit out but I want no part of it."

                Richard looked up at him, trying to read his expression.

                "I'm done with it all, I'm leaving for good. I’ve got to get out. I won't deal with this anymore," he said, finally rising to leave.

                "You're serious?"

                "Yes. I'll be gone tonight," he said, determination evident in his tone. “And if you’re smart, you’ll leave too before it’s too late.” He turned and left the room, making Richard the only one left in the room.

                "Shit," Richard murmured once he was alone.

\--

                Oliver sat down next to him, also facing the water but saying nothing. Whenever Till was ready to speak, he would. They sat there for a few minutes, watching the minute movements of wildlife in the marshy area. Willow reeds stuck straight out of the water, swaying gently and creaking in the breeze. Till appreciated Oliver’s presence, he was quiet, never one for any unnecessary conversation. If there was a silence, he hardly felt the need to break it; preferring to avoid chatter. He was calming in that sense.

                He always knew where to find Till, since Till preferred to seek out the water whenever he was feeling overwhelmed. He thought about the events of the day, quietly wondering how the situation between Till and Schneider would pan out. He had a niggling feeling that the upcoming weeks would be rough on all of them.

                “Do you want to know why I love the water so much,” Till asked very quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

                Oliver nodded, keeping his eyes on the blackish blue ripples in front of them.

                “It reminds me how fragile life can be,” he said simply. They sat in silence for a few moments before Till continued. “I used to swim competitively, a long time ago. The first thing they taught us was how to breathe properly. Imagine that, having to be taught how to breathe; the most basic of human instincts had to be relearned. The water is a different environment altogether. A single mistake, something as simple as inhaling at the wrong time, can trigger a cascade of events.”

                “It’s important to learn how to control every muscle, every action at all times. It’s become second nature for me to manage every step of the way. And look where that’s gotten us.” He paused, thinking about how the plan did not go accordingly and of Schneider’s outburst. “It seems I’ve forgotten the most important thing about the water,” he said.

                “What’s that,” Oliver asked.

                “It has a mind all its own. No matter how hard one tries to control it, it just slips through your fingers. A particularly violent wave, rip current, tropic storms … they all occur because the water wills it. I suppose part of the reason it draws me is the ever-present threat of danger. Ocean waters are full of those threats, wild animals and the like. Why is it that the place I feel safest, is probably the most liable to kill me?” Till chuckled softly then, watching as a bird skimmed its claws through the water; most likely hunting for dinner. It came up with nothing, instead flying further down the lake.

                “Maybe it’s because I know how to hide,” he mused quietly, more to himself than to Oliver.

 

_Three months prior_

                She frowned at him, pushing the notebook across the table with three words written on it.

_We’ve found them._

                Underneath neatly manicured fingernails, sat a large envelope. She retrieved the contents; black and white photographs spread across the table between them. Each with a name beneath it.

_Landers.      Kruspe.      Lindemann.      Riedel.      Lorenz._

                He nodded briefly, already knowing what she wanted. He would have to kill them. Betrayal was a heavy price to pay.

                But he would do whatever was necessary.

                He always did. 

  
  
  



	4. III

                 “Left here,” he instructed as they pulled onto a dirt road. The Volga puttered through the gravel, occasionally bouncing over a dip in the uneven path and lurching forward. After driving up a steady incline for about two miles, the road plateaued, revealing an open field with an abandoned warehouse not too far from them. She slowed to a stop and turned the car off.

                 He looked at her, an air of finality in his gaze. There had been a sort of brooding darkness lingering over him the past week as if he had been anticipating this moment. His eyes were emotionless as if he were staring through her instead of at her. She reached out to him and he leaned into her embrace, kissing her hungrily.

                 She kissed him back desperately as his fingers tangled in her thick hair. He wanted to see this out properly but there would not be enough time for that. She broke the kiss first, cradling his head against her chest. He held her for a few moments, contemplating what lay ahead. Only the sound of their shaky breathing and thumping heartbeats could be heard in the car. She was throwing him to the wolves; letting him do this alone. Five against one, he hardly stood a chance. Would this be the last time she saw Schneider alive?

                 He reluctantly withdrew and she gave him a weak smile. “Do what you have to,” she said, smoothing a hand over his hair fondly as a lone tear ran down her cheek. Schneider wiped it away gently, his face a mask of indifference.

                 “If I’m not back within the hour, leave without me and assume the worst,” he told her. “Get as far away from here as you can. They’ll be searching for you if I fail.”

                 She looked at him with tears in her eyes, reaching a hand to his cheek. “Be safe,” she whispered.

                 “I will, yes,” he said absentmindedly, starting to focus on the task at hand.

                 “Schneider,” she breathed softly, pulling him in for one brief, possibly final, kiss.

                 He sighed heavily before reaching into the back seat of the car, retrieving a leather duffle bag. His mood changed noticeably, all concentration on the task at hand. He unzipped the bag and retrieved his gun; a lightweight silver pistol. He inspected it carefully; making sure it was loaded and ready, turning it over in his hands before turning it towards her.

                 He could end it all right here, right this second and-

                 Self-control needed to be exercised. Pulling the trigger now would leave too many unknown variables. He stowed the rest of the bag’s contents before tossing it back to the floor and pushing the door open. He stepped out of the car, boot splashing in a puddle beneath.

                 If he had closed the door a moment later, he would have heard the soft, strangled sob that the woman let out. She buried her face in her hands, not wanting to know what would happen next to her beloved. She stopped herself there, he could no longer be hers. The sooner she accepted that fact, the easier things would be. No matter what the outcome, things would be forever changed from this point onward. There was a high possibility that Schneider would not come back ...and she never got to learn his first name.

                 He stood next to the Volga for a moment, gun tucked securely into his waistband. He started off through the wheat field for the warehouse, an impending sense of doom settling over him. It was ominously dark and foreboding across the cloudy gray skies behind it, an otherwise abandoned warehouse in the middle of nowhere. As he drew closer, he noticed the faint scent of smoke and accelerant wafting through the air. Immediately his mind jumped to his gun in his waistband and the knife stowed in his shoe. As he approached the large metal door, he observed the warehouse for any signs of fire damage.

_Or Till and Oliver._

                 A pinprick of light could be seen from the keyhole opening of the warehouse, signalling that the door was left open. The smell got stronger as he drew closer, clearly emanating from inside the building. He stepped inside, taking long strides towards a single light down a long stretch of hallway. His steps echoed against the floor as the door swung shut with a squeak.

                 Slowly five figures came into view and he slowed to a stop. He looked at each of them; his heart hammering against his ribs, knowing that it was them. They were centered around a singed chair, arms neatly folded or by their sides. The walk towards them seemed to stretch on forever until he finally reached the clearing where they stood. One gun and one knife against five people, presumably all with guns wouldn't be enough to hold them all off. He could probably take out two or three, and at least injure one more. He started running through the fastest way to incapacitate as many of them as he could, sizing them each up.

                 Oliver and Flake, or the two tallest stood on either end of the group with their hands stowed in their pockets. If he went with the assumption that those two were indeed his old teammates, then Oliver most likely had something flammable and explosive in his pocket and Flake had a knife with a nasty surprise smeared across the blade. The two who looked most like Paul and Richard flanked Till, both with their hands visible. The fact that he could actually see their hands somehow unnerved him more. Paul managed to look furious, arms folded tightly and shoulders tensed as Schneider approached. He looked akin to a cat raising its hackles, although Paul resembled more of a mountain lion; furious when provoked. Richard had his hands free, of course, being the close-range brawler that he was. He preferred fists over guns for the satisfaction that only striking someone bare handed could bring. Till stood in the center, white knuckles gripping the metal bar of the burnt chair's back. Schneider knew Till's first reaction would be to heave the chair at his face if things went off course immediately.

                 If none of them were who they appeared to be, then it was safe to assume they had probably just guns on their person. However, he would still be fucked when it came to finding the other five. It could have been a trick of the light, but he swore the masks were molded to resemble his friends' features.

                 He came to a stop a few feet away, looking between the five of them. A split second seemed to be a tense stand off between them, neither side moving. None of them spoke as the one in the center reached for his mask. His hand flew to his waistband out of instinct, fingers wrapping around the handle of his pistol.

                 "Schneider," came the booming, triumphant cheer of Till as he removed his mask with a flourish, arms outstretched as if he were the host of a particularly raucous surprise birthday party. Schneider immediately felt at ease, but didn't relax his grip on the gun just yet. Richard and Oliver followed suit, light reflecting off of Richard's silver hoop as he nodded eagerly and Oliver gave a shout of joy. Flake yanked his mask off easily while Paul carefully pulled his back, mussing his hair in the process to reveal the expression of excitement that painted his features. All five stood with a smile, happy to finally see their brother again.

                 And he had found them.

                 Schneider found laughter came to him easily and he finally released his grip on his gun. Till's smile grew wider as he noted that action, stepping forward with open arms to embrace Schneider. Schneider took a small step forward tentatively, then another as Till closed the distance between them.

                 Schneider froze. It certainly seemed these were his friends, his brothers, but he didn't expect such a warm welcome after his sudden departure. Till realized he had to be careful around Schneider, wariness still evident in his eyes. He tilted his head as if to say, Schneider, it's us, in reassurance. He clapped a hand against Schneider's shoulder, nonverbally asking his permission, and was relieved when he felt Schneider's arm wrapping around him. He bowed his head, bringing it to rest against the younger man's shoulder. "You have returned," Till said, low enough for only him to hear.

                 "I have," Schneider replied, finally fully embracing the other man.

                 Paul was clapping behind them while Flake produced a bottle of liquor from inside his coat, automatically taking a large swig from it. Flake passed the bottle to Richard and he took it, loudly proclaiming, "Let's drink!" They all cheered then, each of them eager to finally have some more alcohol. Once Till had let him go, Paul practically crashed into Schneider's chest, flinging himself at the taller man.

                 "Brat, ty vernulsya! O bozhe, ya ne dumal, ty ne vernetsya , i ya byl tak rasstroyen, i i i ya--" Paul began, but Schneider cut him off.

                 "Da, uspokoysya brat," Schneider replied easily, pulling him into a hug as best he could with one arm pinned to his chest by Paul. Relief flooded through Paul and he jumped away excitedly, returning to Flake's side for a shot. Paul was still odd as ever, Schneider noted as he watched the smaller man begin to chug whatever moonshine Flake had brought along with him.

                 Till returned a moment later, reaching for Schneider's face and yelling about alcohol. He tugged on the ends of Schneider's ears and so Schneider pinched Till's cheeks and pulled. The teasing physicality of their friendship hadn't diminished one bit as Schneider cheered along as well. "Drink!" Till crowed as Oliver passed a bottle over to Schneider.

                 And drink they did.

                 Till and Schneider clinked their bottles together and began to guzzle the liquor. The liquor burned the insides of his mouth and the back of his throat as it went down. Flake joined in, taking a shot as well. They all cheered again before, not surprisingly, taking another shot. He immediately started to feel the effects of the alcohol, swaying a little bit. Or perhaps he was overwhelmed by the excitement of finally being back with his true friends. Whoever made this batch of vodka clearly intended to knock out whoever drank it. Richard was next to greet him, quickly hugging him before stepping back to look him over. "Welcome back," Richard said, playfully cuffing the back of his head before tugging on his ears as well. "Still no earring yet brother?" Richard asked.

                 "Nein," he grinned, holding his bottle up to Richard. "Prosit?" Schneider usually would have been perturbed by all this sudden attention but something told him he was better off for not presently questioning it.

                 "Prosit!" Richard yelled, and the four behind them echoed the cheer. This one would pass the test. Schneider had finally returned. Flake ruffled Schneider's hair affectionately in greeting, taking his bottle back from Richard.

                 Kicking aside the abandoned chair, Till closed in and formed the perfect semi-circle around Schneider that would transition the way into drinking activities. The florescent lighting above them flickered briefly, causing Oliver shifting closer to Till to look more like he teleported. Doom stiffened his stance for a moment, on edge as he looked from Till to Oliver. He was the last to greet Schneider, keeping his hello brief before toasting the older man. A mischievous look was playing about his features and Schneider couldn't help but grin in return.

                 If Schneider chose to turn his attention to the bottle he was currently nursing a second later, he would have noticed Oliver nudging Till and mumbling, "We'll use the kerosene? It'll burn a little slower." Again, Schneider benefited from not knowing.

                 "Yes, we can control it better," Till replied.

                 "Prosit!" Someone yelled and more shots followed.

                 Somehow in the ruckus, Schneider's shirt got unzipped, Oliver's tie barely hung in the neat knot it was in before, and all of them had lost their coats except Flake and Paul who didn't exactly count as it was slung over his head. He made his way over to Schneider, arms wide as he wobbled towards the younger man. "Molot?" he asked Schneider.

                 "Molot! Da, molot! Till!" Schneider yelled, beckoning Till over. More drinks were poured, a good amount of it spilled while Schneider and Till banged their fists against their knees while taking shots. Their laughter echoed through the empty warehouse, livening the din atmosphere for a short time. Another round of shots had Schneider practically gargling the vodka before he threw it back.

\---

                 Outside, the woman in the Volga drummed her fingers against the steering wheel. It had been about twenty minutes and no signs of life could be seen from within the warehouse. She was getting nervous now, she had worked too hard on this plan for it to be ruined now. She wondered how long it could possibly take for him to finish the task.

                 An hour was too long for her, although she knew that Schneider was going to need every minute he could get. She would have to patiently wait it out and try not to think the worst. Schneider had assured her he was more than capable of handling the five. There was no reason for them not to welcome him back into their ranks, even though he had been gone for months. For them, their loyalty was their bond. She had happened to be lucky that one of the group had finally turned rank. All she needed was one of them and it didn't hurt that she had ended up with one of the more attractive ones.

                 She resumed drumming her fingers against the wheel, a habit she had picked up from Schneider as of late. As much as she didn't want to admit it, she felt a special fondness towards the man she had once considered her enemy. His offer was much too good to refuse; all five of the others alive and in her hands, for the promise of a position of power within her own organization. She had to admit a man willing to sell out his former teammates for his own gain was troubling, but also exactly what she would do and so he begrudgingly gained her respect.

                 Fiddling with the stereo knobs of the broken radio, she toyed with the idea that Schneider reported to her only. It was strangely satisfying. There was no real need to break him to bend to her will; he found her and was already compliant. The operation had gone fairly smoothly and once Schneider disposed of the five, he could be easily taken care of. It was a shame she'd have to turn on Schneider, he made such a good soldier. She contemplated running away now, if she left him then he could make his own escape and find his way back to her. Instead of having to take him out, she could lie, say he betrayed her, and that would leave them free to make their own separate getaways.

                 Turning the car on ran the risk of alerting the others inside and putting Schneider in danger. She sighed, wanting to leave already but Schneider was still there. She couldn't leave now, that plan would leave too many open ends. She would have to put it into action once Schneider returned from the warehouse ...if he made it out alive.

                 Sitting in the car was quickly becoming claustrophobic as she imagined different scenarios where Schneider wouldn't return. She knew Schneider wouldn't fail to take at least two out with him but that still left three others to find her. He could have been telling them all about her right now. The longer she waited, the more time they had to put together a plan to kill her. Worriedly she lunged into the back seat, checking the contents of Schneider's bag. Only a magazine of bullets, a knife, and a lighter were left along with a jacket.

                 The knife and the lighter were the only items of useful value to her and so she took them from the bag. Leaving the knife on the seat, she took the lighter and got out of the car. She needed a cigarette to calm her nerves. It had been about twenty-five minutes now and there was no sign of Schneider or anybody else. She couldn't hear anything from inside the warehouse either but the distance was too great for her to hear anything properly anyway. She wandered through the field for a few minutes for good measure, just in case she could catch even the slightest hint of sound that Schneider was all right. Still no sign.

                 Huddling against the car to shield herself from the wind, she lit a cigarette and took a long drag. Her nerves were a total wreck and looking at the desolate warehouse only made her feel worse. Nothing could be heard but the rustling of the wind and grass around her as she slid down to the ground. As she smoked, she began nervously pulling up tufts of dried grass and pulling apart small pieces of it. Worry creased her brow as she looked to the gray skies above. She absentmindedly ran her fingers over her arms, trying to warm herself up some. Schneider's jacket still lay on the back seat but she couldn't bring herself to put it on now. All she wanted was confirmation that he was all right.

                 Then the sound of faint screams worked their way across the field. Her heart sank and she couldn't shake the feeling of nausea that overcame her. "Oh Gott, nicht Schneider bitte," were the only words she managed to choke out before starting to sob.

\---  
                 "Schneider, we have something we need to show you."

                 Schneider checked his watch. A half hour left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Have you ever noticed the fixation on Schneider's ears in the Du Hast video? Because I have.  
> -I can guarantee this Russian is somehow wrong thanks to Google Translate but:  
> *"Brat, ty vernulsya! O bozhe, ya ne dumal, ty ne vernetsya , i ya byl tak rasstroyen, i i i ya--" = "Brother, you're back! Oh god, I thought you wouldn't return and I was so upset, and and and I--"  
> **"Da, uspokoysya brat" = "Yes, calm down brother"  
> ***"Molot" = "hammer"  
> *(and one in German) "Oh Gott, nicht Schneider bitte" = "Oh god, not Schneider please"  
> -One more chapter left...


End file.
